


i'll take your hand and lead you through

by lostinsanity



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, M/M, OT5, Self Harm, Suicide Attempt, missing!niall, selfharm!zayn, um wow this is darker than i thought it was leave me the fuck alone, ya this will hurt, ziall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 08:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/620150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostinsanity/pseuds/lostinsanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> Zayn knows he’s being selfish, but a drink burning its way down his throat makes him numb. He can’t feel, and that’s how he wants it. Even though he knows he deserves to suffer for this, he numbs himself, spends his days in a cloudy haze.</i>
</p><p>Zayn doesn’t think he can fuck up any more. But Niall’s gone, and things are different, and Zayn doesn’t know what to do. But he’s definitely fucked up more than he thought he could.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll take your hand and lead you through

**Author's Note:**

> just another bit that sucked the soul out of me. also um this is ziall???????¿

Harry remembers, about a week before it happened, talking to Niall about the future. Niall sits wedged between Harry and Liam with his hands tangled in a bowl of popcorn in his lap and his eyes fixated to the movie screen even though everyone else is asleep or nodding off. Harry reaches over for a handful of popcorn but is pawed of by Niall.

“You ever gonna share?” Harry asks, smirking at a twinkly-eyed Niall.

Niall shakes his head, popping a kernel into his mouth. “The day I share my food is the day I die.”

It turns into a full-blown conversation, a discussion, about what they would do when their fame dropped, what would happen if they got cut from their record label, what they would have been if they never got into the band. Niall knows what Harry would be studying in Uni right now if he had spent his high school years working in a bakery back in Holmes Chapel and studying for tests instead of performing a world tour. Harry knows that Niall would have tried and tried to pursue music anyway, because Niall loved music so much and wouldn’t have given up just because some people at a table told him he wasn’t ready for the competition.

Niall shares his popcorn that night and they laugh at each other, with Liam drooling on Niall’s shoulder and Louis quickly slipping down into Harry’s lap.

~

The morning before it all happens, Niall comes over Louis and Harry’s flat with a bag of candy. Louis asks him what he was doing, but Niall just giggles and leaves the bag on the kitchen table with no other words. Louis furrowed his eyebrows but pulls a Reese’s cup out anyway and pops it into his mouth, listening to Harry in the shower upstairs.

~

Zayn and Niall have a fight right before midnight, right before the day before edges into the night after. Zayn doesn’t even remember what it’s about, but Zayn screams at Niall, shouts until Niall’s face flushes a deep pink and his mouth snaps closed, no other words. Zayn is full of rage and he just screams ‘get out’ at the top of his lungs and throws a book at Niall and glares until he snatches his jacket and storms out into the rain. Zayn doesn’t think much about it, his anger running his mind, and he just settles down into bed, stuffing his head beneath the pillow and biting his lip till it bleeds, just to make sure no tears leak from his eyes and make him weak.

~

Hysterical screaming is what edges Harry awake.

 

“ _Where the fuck is Niall?”_

Harry shoots up in bed, dropping his phone down onto the duvet, reaching out and pulling at Louis’ hair to get him to wake up. “What are you talking about?” he says after he gets the phone back up to his ear again, but he realizes that it’s upside down, so he fixes it and repeats himself.

“I don’t know, Harry.” Zayn’s voice is wobbly and high-pitched and damp, and Harry knows he’s crying. “I don’t know where Niall is. He was here last night and he left and I don’t know where he is and I’m scared, we have to find him. He’s gone.”

Louis is groggy as he sits up but Harry is wide awake, jaw slacking. “He’s gone? What do you mean gone?”

Louis’ eyes widen a bit. “Who’s gone?” he begins, but Harry cuts him off with a sharp “shut up!” and a hard gaze.

“We fought last night,” Zayn mumbles, and Harry can hear his breath wavering, can feel a burning edging up through his chest and strangling his throat closed, and he has to fight to breathe. “It was stupid but I told him to leave so he left and it was raining and I don’t know where he _is_ , Harry.”

Harry throws the phone at Louis and Louis fumbles to catch it, pressing it to his ear with a “Hello?” as Harry gets up to piss.

Harry comes back and Louis is forcing his legs, numbed and jelly from sleep, into a pair of jeans.

“We’ve got to find him, Harry. Get dressed.”

~

“What was he wearing?” Liam asks, his hand on Zayn’s wrist. Zayn can barely hold himself together, he’s shaking like a leaf and is walking jagged lines on the sidewalk.

“Uh, jeans. Light ones. A tan jumper,” Zayn says, biting back another sob. Louis and Harry’s hands are latched together behind Liam and Zayn, and their heads are bent against the wind. The rain has stopped but the wind is still going, howling up mist into their faces.

Liam nods and ducks his head, shoving his hood up. Zayn’s wrist is limp in his grasp and he tightens his grip, almost tugging Zayn along. Something along the distance catches his eye, something light but covered in mud and dampness, lying in the gutter of the road. He shouts back at Louis and Harry, fearful of Zayn breaking down in case Liam let go, and Harry’s running in front of him now, they’re all running, even Zayn, who’s dragging his feet beneath him but running nonetheless.

“Oh my God,” Harry says, and his back is to them, the thing in his hands and he rubs his thumb along it, trying to hold it away from him, dripping and dirty. “Louis.”

Louis comes up behind Harry and places his hand on Harry’s back and looks down at the item in his hands and his breath hooks up into his throat and won’t move, and his lungs are burning, but he can’t do anything about it. The rain starts falling down again and Liam pulls up behind Harry.

Liam’s jaw goes slack and he lets go of Zayn for just a minute to lunge forwards and snatch the object from Harry’s hands. “Oh my god—this can’t be…” he pulls from his mouth, staring at the thing he holds.

Louis bites his lip. “That’s _it,_ Liam,” he says, digging his nails into Harry’s shoulder. Harry’s frozen, hands still up as if he were still holding the object, but they’re empty, and he’s holding empty air. His eyes bore forwards. His hair is beginning to mat down onto his forehead from the rain. “That’s his fucking jumper, Liam.”

Zayn turns and looks at it. Liam’s hands are shaking, shaking as they hold the thick sweatshirt, the tan hooded zip-up with the initials ‘N. H.’ emblazoned into the right side, but it’s covered in mud and soaking wet.

Zayn drops down onto the pavement and pulls his knees up into his chest and closes his eyes and his nails claw at his wrists as he sobs.

~

“Zayn. You need to let go of it. Come on, it’s dirty.”

Liam tries to coax the jumper from between Zayn’s arms, but he won’t let go of it, clutching it to his chest with his mouth and nose buried into the filthy hood. His hands dig into the stained lining, and the dampness seeps into his chest and beneath his skin and makes his bones go cold. Zayn won’t let go of it. It’s the only thing left of Niall now, the last thing he touched before he disappeared.

Louis’ fingers gently touch the back of Zayn’s neck, but they’re cold. “Don’t be too worried,” he tries with a smile, which looks more like a sneer or a hiss to Zayn. “He probably just dropped it, he’ll be back in the morning.”

Zayn nods, but he knows Louis is lying, because who just drops a jumper onto the side of the road and doesn’t come back to pick it up?

They get back to their complex and Liam’s out of the car first, and then Harry and Louis and Zayn is left alone. Zayn almost feels like he’s waiting for Niall to climb out of the seat behind him first, but then he realizes, and he digs his nails into his skin some more, his nostrils flaring from the sting he feels. He’s still holding the jumper tight to himself when he climbs out of the car and walks slowly towards the complex, Harry leaning heavily into Louis’ side and Liam leading the way.

Zayn can feel the presence of Niall’s place as he shuffles by, a heaviness set in the air, making it feel stagnant and suffocating and stiff. The jumper suddenly weighs more in his hands and he burrows further into it, ignoring the scratchiness of it and the mud rubbing against his face. It smells of stale water and dirt but has the faintest scent of Niall underneath, his fruity shampoo and heavy cologne and a tiny bit of aftershave.

Zayn pulls his face out of the sweater just in time to run into Liam’s back. Liam reaches behind him to catch Zayn but he’s already on his ass on the ground, the jumper knocked from his hands into another muddy puddle. Zayn’s stunned, but Liam helps him up and unlocks his front door for him and ushers him inside. Liam helps Zayn change from his filthy wet clothes into warm pajamas and tucks him into bed even though it’s only three in the afternoon, but Zayn presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and falls asleep without protest.

Liam goes back outside and sees the sweater in the puddle, now a muddy brown, no longer the crisp khaki it once was. He scoops it up into his arms and wrings it out and tucks it under his elbow, heading for his flat as thunder claps overhead.

~

Louis and Harry can’t sleep. Harry’s wet hair drips down onto Louis’ forehead and Louis sits there, stiff, as the water left on Harry’s body from his shower runs down along Louis’ cheek. Louis feels Harry’s arms slip around his frame and pull Louis close into his chest, where he buries his face into Harry’s neck.

“Are you alright?” Harry asks gently, even though he knows it’s an empty question, and his hands tremble as they trace along Louis’ spine, pressing lightly on each tiny, soft mountain up to the nape of Louis’ neck.

Louis nods, and Harry gently toys with the fragile hair at the back of Louis’ neck. “He’s going to come back, right, Harry?” His arms reach up and his hands tangle in Harry’s curls and trace along the ridge behind his ear, and Harry shivers.

He bows his head and presses his lips to Louis’ forehead, then leaves his face buried in his hair. “Of course he is,” he tells Louis.

He doesn’t really know, of course. But Harry’s lips are in Louis’ hair and Louis’ cheek is pressed against Harry’s warm, soft neck, and Louis makes himself believe it.

~

Liam doesn’t really remember waking up. He barely even remembers falling asleep, but now he’s upside down on the sofa watching some kid’s show on the television with an open flask in his hand. Liam still isn’t one to get drunk, despite having both kidneys now, so he’s caught off-guard by the pounding in his head and the churning in his stomach.

He sits up, groggy, tossing the flask onto the coffee table and rubbing his tired eyes, ignoring the headache brewing behind them. He’s sure Niall is there by now, Niall’s probably back in his house, asleep or eating or calling for pizza even though it’s only ten in the morning. He gets up and shoves the bag of chips off his lap and looks around at his flat, messy and covered in open bags of crisps and a beer bottle or two, and he wonders just how drunk he got last night.

He’s about to strip off and jump in the shower before he walks by his room and hears soft snoring. Confused, he creaks the door open, popping his head in.

Zayn’s there, curled up in Liam’s bed, clutching a teddy bear like his life is depended on it. He’s got tear tracks on his cheeks and instead of a pillow, his head is resting on Niall’s jumper, which is now clean and fluffy.

Without a word, Liam slips into the room and eases the jumper out from beneath Zayn’s head, wincing as Zayn shifts but letting out his breath when he doesn’t wake up. He heads to creep out, but before he does, he stuffs the jumper into a deep crevice of his closet and covers it with a scarf, not sure of his mind. Not sure of anything, really, till he rushes to the toilet and lets out all the crap food he ate last night.

His shower is hot; almost too hot, really. It burns his skin, but Liam doesn’t care. He scrubs away the hangover, and the steam is helping to clear his head and helping push the headache away, too. He doesn’t know what he wants to do now, what he’s going to say when Zayn wakes up, because it’s pretty obvious that Niall’s not there. Niall hasn’t come back. He doesn’t know what to think of that, really. He’d definitely thought Niall would be back. But they have nothing to worry about—Niall’s fine, Niall’s okay. Of course he’s okay. He probably went to a club and picked up a girl and stayed at her place, no bigs.

Zayn’s still sleeping when Liam gets out of the shower, and it’s near noon. Liam quietly goes into his room again, to grab something to throw on, when Zayn shifts in his bed and hugs the teddy bear closer. Liam looks back at him, clad in only boxers, and Zayn’s eyes crack open and he stares at Liam, but not in a sexual way. He looks disheveled and broken.

“He’s not back yet, is he?” Zayn asks, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Liam can’t even tell if he’s rubbing his eyes awake or if he’s rubbing away tears.

Liam hangs his head, pulling on his sweatpants. “No,” he says quietly, and that’s all Zayn needs to hear; he falls backwards onto the bed and pulls the teddy bear in again and squeezes his eyes closed, almost as if he’s trying hard to fall asleep.

Liam’s dressed now, still fighting off the hangover, and he stands over his stove, trying to piece together how in the world pancakes work. He’s exhausted and he has a headache and he really just doesn’t want to deal with anything right now, especially not breakfast and not whiny Zayn and not missing Niall. He just wants to pretend that it’s Sunday morning and they’re all sleepy and quiet and they just all go over to Louis and Harry’s for breakfast because anything Harry cooks comes out perfect and they laugh at each other and Niall has four servings of eggs and bacon. The thought comes back into his mind of Niall being gone, though, and Liam can feel himself choking up, can feel himself wanting so badly to crawl back into bed and be done with it all, just sleep it off.

He figures, screw food, and goes upstairs, climbing into bed with Zayn. It’s not like they haven’t slept in beds together before, and Liam is so damn _tired…_

~

Dinnertime brings a surprise—a phone call. It’s Niall’s mom, and she doesn’t sound too panicked in any way, but she sounds _worried._

“Have you guys seen Niall?” she blurts out as soon as Louis says ‘hello’. Louis has to hold the phone back from his ear—she’s so _loud,_ but he gets it, because she’s probably freaking out, too.

“No, we haven’t,” Louis responds, apologetic. He can hear her suck in a deep breath through the receiver. “Why?”

“I sent him a text this morning—he always replies—and he just, didn’t.” Her tone is worried and frantic, just a little underneath. “I called him and no answer—and he’s always awake now, you boys always get him up, and—I don’t know why he wouldn’t answer. Is he okay?”

Louis looks across the table at Zayn, hoping Zayn knows, and of course he does. The look in Louis’ eyes can’t be fabricated. He’s panicking, he doesn’t know what to tell her, because how can you tell a mother you found the jumper her son was last seen wearing balled up in the gutter of the road? Liam knows, too. Liam knows because he’s kind of like an all-knowing thing. The God Liam. He’s supposed to take care of this, he knows that, too. He reaches over and grabs the phone from Louis’ hands and presses it to his ear.

“Hi Maura,” he says, fighting for his voice to remain steady and responsible like it’s supposed to.

“Liam,” Maura breathes, the word coming out in a rush of air, almost as if she’s _expected_ Liam to pick up the phone. “Where’s my baby?”

Liam presses his lips together, throat growing tight, palms growing sweaty. He doesn’t know what to say, because he doesn’t know _everything_ , after all, even though it seems like he does. He leaves the dinner table and goes into the other room and shuts the door, leaving Zayn and Harry and Louis sitting out there by themselves.

“So,” Louis attempts, thinking that conversation—something—anything would be better than this, but nobody responds. Harry just pokes a fork into his steak and pulls it out and Zayn is staring above Louis’ head at the doorframe and Louis just sits back and takes a deep breath and reaches towards the middle of the table.

Liam comes back in the room, hands shaking, and hands Lou’s phone back to him. The silence is so piercing that Harry can _hear_ it, and so can Zayn, but Louis is so focused on getting his mashed potatoes on his plate that he doesn’t really seem to be noticing anything. Liam closes his mouth, opens it to speak, but his throat feels as if there’s a cue ball shoved down it and he can’t. Zayn pushed the food on this plate into little piles and smashes his fork into them, knocking them down. He hasn’t eaten a thing all night.

Louis finally finishes with the potatoes, but it’s almost as if he regrets paying attention, because he takes one look at Liam and starts meticulously placing corn on his plate, kernel by kernel.     

None of them speak, but the thought runs like a thread between them, and Liam’s unspoken words hang in the air like a blazing heat, so hot and so present they can’t ignore it. Liam tries again, and this time he gets it out.

“We have to file a missing persons report.”

~

Zayn refuses to go to the police station with them. He hasn’t touched his dinner, so for the past hour, Harry’s been smushed into his side on the sofa, trying to spoon-feed him chocolate pudding but slipping it into his own mouth when Zayn turns his head. Zayn claims that he doesn’t feel good, that he’s sick, and he wraps a blanket around himself and goes into the bathroom and runs a thermometer under hot water before shoving it in his mouth and showing Liam his ‘fever.’ Liam knows, he’s not stupid, but he lets it slide, humors Zayn, and tucks him into bed and presses a kiss to his forehead and tells him to feel better, and he falls asleep two minutes after Liam leaves the room.

The boys have already called Paul, who’s called their manager and told them exactly what was going on. They take a photo of Niall and Liam has a CD burned of the stupid stuff Niall’s scribbled onto a piece of paper and put music notes to and recorded on his iPhone while he strummed the guitar. They listen to it before they leave, and you can hear Zayn shouting at Niall to shut up and Niall’s laugh, sweet like honeysuckle, loud like thunder, and Liam feels his chest tightening because even though he’s only been gone two days, it feels like Niall’s been gone a lifetime, more. Like Liam lost a brother. And he has, they’re brothers now, two years’ time has done that much, and Liam is just intent on finding him, just bringing him home.

It’s raining when they get there, it’s pouring, actually, and they step over the curb and all Harry can see is Niall’s jumper, balled up on the side of the street, mud-stained and drenched and filthy. Harry closes his eyes and for a moment, he sees Niall in the place of his jumper, naked and cold with his eyes bunched closed, shivering, skin tinged blue, curled up in a ball on the side of the road. Harry feels sick.

Thankfully, the police station is warm and dry inside. It’s noisy and overfilled and people are sitting on benches in handcuffs, waiting to be interrogated, but it’s warm and dry nonetheless. Paul’s there, standing sturdy and tall, talking to who looks to be the department captain, and behind Liam, Harry and Louis are holding hands so tightly they’re hurting each other, but they both really need something to hold on to, so it’s okay. Harry’s face is pale and his hair is limp and stringy, beads of water from the rain outside dripping off the ends. Louis’ lips are pressed flat and he looks like he’s slouching, but he’s doing it on Harry’s shoulder, so that makes it okay. For a split second, Liam wishes Zayn had come with them, just for someone to hold on to, but that thought is dropped off when Paul turns to them, blank faced, gesturing to the man in uniform in front of him.           

“Liam,” Paul says softly, and Liam takes a step forward. He looks the officer in the eye, swallowing down a burning in his eyes and nose and a tingling behind his cheeks.

“Hi,” Liam responds, sheepish, looking up at the policeman, who has a kind face and a notebook in hand. It’s taking all Liam can to keep himself sane, and not choke on his throat or burst into tears or claw his eyes out right then and there. Louis and Harry won’t even step forward, but Paul’s hand is on Liam’s shoulder now, and Liam has to start talking.           

“Evening,” greets the officer. His eyes are blue, Liam realizes. Too blue. _Niall_ blue.

Liam loses it. It’s like a dam breaks behind his eyes, and he just loses it. He presses his hands to his eyes and tries to push the tears back, but he can’t do it. He falls to his knees and can barely breathe because his throat is closed up around itself and his tongue is heavy and his mouth is dry and he can’t breathe and his tears are strangling him and his knees are sore from slamming on the ground but he just wants Niall.

It’s a blur as Paul lifts him up off his knees, places him on his feet again, has his hand on the small of Liam’s back and hold him up as he ushers him out the door, brings him to the car, and stands with Liam out in the pouring rain until Liam can breathe again. And even then, Paul doesn’t make him go back into the station, he lets him sit out in the car until they all come back out, faces drawn, and Liam knows it’s been done, and it’s real now.

Niall’s really missing.

~

And thus begins Zayn’s fall.

He knows it’s all his fault. It’s been his fault since the beginning, and it’s okay, because he knows that. He was the one who fought with Niall, and that’s why Niall left in the first place. He was the one who spiked Niall’s blood in anger and screamed at him to leave and sat there and just went to sleep once Niall slammed the door shut and never came back. Zayn did it to Niall and to his friends and to himself. Zayn is his own pursuer, his own victim and his own predator.

It’s been days since the boys came back from the police station with faces as cold as stone and lips drawn taut, Liam with red-rimmed eyes and Louis and Harry so twined into each other that it looks like they’re one being. It’s been days since Liam woke Zayn up and asked him to go home before falling into his own bed and bunching the pillows up into his face and shaking. Yes, it’s been days since all that, days since Zayn realized he was breaking all the other boys as well.

He’s dealing with it, in his own way. To him, there’s nothing that can’t be fixed with enough whiskey. Zayn knows he’s being selfish, but a drink burning its way down his throat makes him numb. He can’t feel, and that’s how he wants it. Even though he knows he deserves to suffer for this, he numbs himself, spends his days in a cloudy haze.

At first, each of the other boys comes to visit him, tries to tell him he’s okay, that it’s not his fault. Liam comes and wraps his arms around Zayn as he quivers on the sofa with his fingers jammed in his mouth as he gnaws on his nails. Harry makes soup in the kitchen and Louis tries as hard as he can to lighten the mood with banter, but it doesn’t seem to be working. Louis’ jokes just aren’t _funny_ anymore, not to Zayn. Not even to Liam. Barely to Harry. They’re all caught in a whirlwind, a mess of things—Niall’s gone and they aren’t the same anymore.

And each day, Liam and Harry and Louis go out looking for Niall.

A week passes, molds into two, and Zayn can’t tell the difference between day and night. He stumbled through each day, usually finding himself sprawled out in the gutters of nowhere, drunk on the side of the road or curled up behind Liam’s sofa or on the terrace and even once in front of Niall’s front door. That one hurts, even cuts through the numbness he forces upon himself, and that’s the day Zayn goes home and locks himself in the bathroom and doesn’t leave his house again.

Liam and Harry and Louis’ searches have dropped from every day to every other day, and even Liam seems to lose faith, but he’s not going to lose Niall this way, so he keeps looking. They still come and check up on Zayn, but after a month, it cuts down until it’s just Liam there, just Liam who pops his head through the door and pulls Zayn into his side and asks him how he’s been feeling. Liam sits there even though Zayn doesn’t say anything and Liam pulls the drink out of Zayn’s hand and just sits there with him, Zayn pulled so close to him they could be the same person, and their breathing becomes even and Zayn eventually falls asleep in Liam’s arms, and that’s when Liam slips out of Zayn’s grasp and tiptoes out of the room and gently closes the door behind him.

It starts to get cold, and with that, Liam’s visits become scarce. Zayn pretends the absence of the people he depend on doesn’t hurt him, but of course… it does. T here isn’t a day that Zayn isn’t drunk and pressed into the corner of his sofa, a glass or a bottle or a flask held tightly in his shaking hands. He always shakes now, not that he knows why. Not that he cares much, either.

It’s been almost two months, two months since Niall went missing. Nobody’s looking anymore. It’s all up to the cops now, and even they seem to have tucked their files away and forgotten about them. Nobody knows how it’s possible to have lost a famous popstar, but somehow it’s done, and it’s been forgotten about.

The first heavy snow isn’t anything to Zayn. He just sits in his flat, keeping warm with a bottle of nameless alcohol, watching as Louis and Harry come out of their flat, bundled up in padded coats and hats and thick scarves with boots on their feet and gloves on their hands, and roll around in the fluffy white. He watches them smile, throw snowballs at each other, and he can hear Harry’s laugh even through his window when a snowball smacks Louis in the face. Even Liam comes out and plays with them, and together they make a fort and pelt snowballs at each other. Zayn watches as Liam tugs out his phone and listens to his phone ringing, but doesn’t turn to answer it. And, when Liam hesitates, looking back towards Zayn’s apartment, Zayn even thinks, just for a moment, that Liam will come up to him, ring his doorbell, force him out of his pajamas that he’s worn for a week straight and into clean, warm clothes and outside to mess around in the snow with them. But Liam turns away after a moment and tackles Louis and Harry, and Zayn remembers that he fucked this all up for himself, and he doesn’t deserve to be loved by the people he hurt the most.

~

Christmas comes and passes, along with New Years’. Four months since Niall’s gone missing.

Nobody invites Zayn over. Liam’s moved out of the complex, at least for the time being. He’s with his family for now. Louis and Harry don’t even leave their flat for at least a week straight.

Zayn spends Christmas and the week leading up to New Years’ and New Years’ Eve and the day itself alone, holed up in his flat. He’s drunk, as usual, and even the sting of his empty retching when he’s had too much doesn’t hurt him anymore. He’s used to it.

~

There’s a phone call that comes in February. It’s only a few days till Valentine’s day, and Louis and Harry are planning a trip to Paris.

Zayn doesn’t remember what it’s like to be loved.

When the call comes, Liam comes back right away. He’s been in Wolverhampton since Christmas, but he comes back, bashing on Zayn’s door, and when Zayn opens it, Liam’s standing there, bags in hand, and forces himself into Zayn’s flat. It’s a mess inside, and Zayn is glazed and foggy and drunk and numb, but Liam pushes past and stands in front of Zayn amidst beer bottles and piles of clothes and blankets and the absence of dirty dishes in the sink, because Zayn isn’t eating.

Zayn doesn’t speak, just stares at Liam, doesn’t register that anything’s wrong, even though Liam is unshaven and his hair is shaggy and his shirt is untucked and messy, and his eyes are bright red, as if he hasn’t slept in a while. Zayn is just a mess, with hair haphazardly sheared with the scissors he keeps in the drawer beside the sink, because it was getting too long and he wasn’t going to get it done, and long scruff and pajamas that he hasn’t changed out of in God knows how long.

“Zayn,” Liam says, voice shaky, and it’s the first Zayn’s heard from him in almost five months. “Someone called. They think Niall’s dead.”

Zayn doesn’t remember what happens after that, other than being on his hands and knees over the toilet with Liam rubbing his back as he vomits out the nothingness that’s in his stomach.

~

Louis’ hands trail down the skin of Harry’s back, and Louis tries hard not to think of the way Harry’s trembling beneath his fingers, of the way his breath is jagged and of how hard he’s trying to keep his eyes open and stare ahead. He, can’t look down, he can’t look up. Only ahead. Louis’ nails graze against Harry’s shoulder blade and he jumps, lurching back a bit, before he grabs his wrist with one hand and starts scratching at it. Louis leans over.

“Baby, what are you doing?” he asks softly, placing his hand over Harry’s. “Don’t do that.”

 Harry looks up at Louis and his eyes are wide and green, but lack the sparkle they used to have. “Louis, they think he’s dead.”

~

It’s a silent gasp for help that brings them all together that night. None of them speak at all, just a mumbled ‘hello’ when Louis and Harry stumble through the door. Liam’s stashed his luggage in Zayn’s room for the time being, and they’re curled up into each other, the four of them, on Zayn’s living room floor, which Liam has frantically cleaned up and tossed inflated air mattresses on, because he knows they’re all going to be together that night. Zayn’s still shaking on the sofa, staring blankly into nothingness, and he’s got goosebumps and it seems like he’s not even blinking.

Liam gets him up and strips him and puts him in the shower, and Zayn just stands there, doesn’t move. At the last second, Liam strips down to his boxers and climbs in with Zayn, and he puts his hands on Zayn’s shoulders and rubs shampoo into his hair and runs a washcloth across his chest. Liam can’t tell the difference between the tears on Zayn’s face and the water from the shower, but once he gets them both out and dressed, he reaches out and pulls Zayn into his shoulder and holds him there.

“I shouldn’t have left, Zayn,” Liam whispers, even though he knows there’s not going to be a response from Zayn. “I should have stayed, taken care of you. I’m sorry, it’s my fault…”

“No,” comes Zayn’s voice, and Liam leans back to look him in the eye. The word is soft and rough and barely audible, but it’s still there. Liam waits for more, but there is no more; that’s all Zayn wants to say, and that’s all he’s going to say.

Liam takes him by the hand and pulls him down the stairs and cuddles into him on the sofa, just like he did before he left, before this all happened. Harry and Louis are curled up on an air mattress below them, Harry pressed into Louis’ side, head on his chest, and his eyes are pressed closed, even though they all know he’s not asleep. Louis is stroking his curls, knowing that he has to stay strong for Harry, that they have to keep each other anchored. They aren’t talking about it; no, not yet. It’s too soon.

They don’t want to come to terms with the fact that their Niall, their precious, white-chocolate skinned little Irish boy, could possibly be dead.

And Zayn can’t stop thinking about how it’s all his fault.

~

Liam sits in the darkness, with Zayn asleep next to him, and thinks.

It took at least two hours to coax Zayn into unconsciousness, even with half the bottle of NyQuil he took. Louis and Harry passed out at least fifteen minutes after lying down on the air mattress on the ground, as if they hadn’t slept in weeks. But now, Zayn’s asleep, and Liam’s arms are pinned underneath him, and Liam can hear Harry snoring beneath him, but all he can do is think.

Where’s Niall? What happened the night he went missing? Why do they think he’s dead?

The last question rips something in Liam’s chest, and he doesn’t know what it is. Niall, gone. He feels something rise in his throat and prick at his eyes and he squeezes them closed and thinks hard, and tries hard to _stop_ thinking. He finally knows what was going through Zayn’s head when he would trip into an alcohol-induced daze to escape his feelings.

What would they do without Niall?

~

Niall steps towards Zayn with a blank look in his eyes and a pale face. The flushed red that’s usually there is just a dark grey now, nothing, and Zayn’s heart lurches because Niall used to be so healthy and so beautiful and now he’s hollow and cold. But at the same time—Niall’s _here._ Niall’s _alive._ Zayn wants to leap forwards and grab Niall in his hands and press kisses to his cheeks and muss with his hair, but can’t, he can’t move, his limbs are like lead.

“Zayn,” Niall says, and his voice sounds like the wind, an empty whisper with no life. Zayn swallows hard and the movement hurts his dry throat.

Zayn tries to speak but when he does nothing comes out of his mouth. He watches Niall instead, watches his eyes and how they’re pale and watches his skin and how it’s thin and watches him and thinks that he’s almost transparent.

Zayn wants desperately to apologize to Niall, to tell Niall how _sorry_ he is for causing this, for ruining everyone’s lives and making Niall _leave,_ turning him into this phantom of the boy everyone loved, lackluster shine.

“Zayn, I’m sorry.”

Niall’s words knock Zayn off guard and he lifts an arm to reach out and touch Niall, but Niall is too far away. Zayn almost thinks he can see straight through Niall now, but that’s insane, you can’t see through people. Zayn shakes his head, asking silently _why,_ why is Niall sorry, but Niall doesn’t get it and looks at Zayn with pressed lips and clouded eyes.

“I’m sorry I had to go, I messed this up, I messed everyone up. I’m sorry that I left… I’m not coming back, Zayn.”

Zayn’s eyes begin to well, but for some reason he still can’t _speak,_ nothing is coming out of his throat, nothing is making any sounds. He just opens and closes his lips and reaches towards Niall but it’s almost like Niall is getting further and further away, just out of Zayn’s reach each time.

“Zayn, it was your fault.”

Niall’s words break Zayn.

Because Zayn _knows_ it’s his fault, because it was his in the beginning. Zayn can’t handle it anymore, he has to hold Niall, has to touch him, but he can’t. He pushes his legs and makes his lead muscles move and lunges towards the younger boy, wrapping his arms around him.

But there’s no body there, no shoulders, no neck, no hair tickling Zayn’s nose. Zayn looks down to see that Niall is quickly fading, disappearing, dispersing. Zayn gasps for breath and springs backwards and before he knows what’s happening he’s sitting up straight on the sofa, covered in sweat, with Liam asleep next to him. He wishes Niall were here, because Niall knows—Niall knew—how to fix Zayn, how to make him feel better at times like this.

But no, Niall can’t come back now. Because Zayn still remembers the phone call—they found a body.

An unidentified male Caucasian body, covered in mud, naked, mutilated so badly that an identification couldn’t be made. And, since there was no other person who fit the criteria, of course, they just believed it was Niall.

Zayn did this. This was all his fault.

~

Zayn’s slipping again.

It’s not like he _wants_ to fall, he just can’t help it. Niall is gone and he did it—he might as well have killed him with his bare hands. Zayn doesn’t want to deal with it anymore—he figures, if Niall’s not alive, why should he be?

Zayn is _done._

_~_

Liam’s eyes well with tears as he swipes the blood away from Zayn’s wrists.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, breath fanning across Zayn’s lips. “It’s not your fault, Zayn. Don’t hurt yourself. It’s not your fault.”

“Yes it is,” Zayn says, so quietly that Liam can barely hear him. “I know it’s my fault. I’m just punishing myself for it. I deserve it.”

Liam gathers Zayn up into his arms, presses his lips into Zayn’s hair, which is so uneven from the messy haircut he gave himself a couple weeks ago, and says, “You don’t deserve it. It’s not your fault.”

Zayn takes in a deep, shaky breath and squeezes his eyes closed. He can feel tears burning behind his lids and his wrists burn, but Liam is still holding him and Liam is warm and constant and solid and for the moment Zayn feels kind of safe. He knows he doesn’t deserve this, but the weight in his chest is let up a little bit from Liam mumbling in his ear and he’s okay.

“It is my fault,” Zayn mumbles. “But I’ll let you hold me.”

Liam takes what he can have.

~

A few days later, Liam stumbles into the bathroom, groggy, in the middle of the night, to find Zayn in the bathtub, head tilted back, eyes closed. Liam’s vision shifts in and out of focus and he rubs the sleep out of his eyes before he sees the bottle clutched in Zayn’s hand.

The empty bottle.

Liam moves fast, dials the emergency number, keeps calm on the phone. He checks for a pulse like he was taught to, he makes sure Zayn’s breathing, and he sits and holds his hand while the ambulance comes. And when it does, Liam stands in the bathroom, watching the empty space where the stretcher was just a moment ago, wondering where he went wrong, where this came from.

~

Zayn’s alright, of course. He’s pissed, and he’s not talking to Liam for the time being, but he’s alright.

“Why did you do that?” Zayn asks Liam in the hospital room after he wakes up. His brow is furrowed and his lips are taut, but all in all, Liam knows that Zayn’s thankful, deep down. “You ruined it.”

“Ruined what?” Liam retaliates, settling down in the seat next to Zayn’s bed. “I saved your life, Zayn. You didn’t deserve that. You deserve to live. Don’t ever try that again, because I love you, alright?”

Zayn is quiet for a few minutes. Then, right when it seems like he’s not going to respond, he whispers, “I love you too, Liam.”

~

Zayn’s discharged from the hospital a week later and asks Liam to talk about it. Liam is surprised, because Zayn’s avoided it for so long, so dead-set on the idea that it was _his_ fault, that _he_ did this, that _he_ killed Niall. (Liam still doesn’t even want to admit that Niall’s…not coming back.) But Liam’s there to listen to Zayn talk. Liam’s always going to be there.

“Liam,” Zayn says, curling his knees up into his chest and staring down at the ground. “Do you think he’s really…gone?”

Liam shifts on the sofa next to Zayn, inching closer to him, slightly. Liam doesn’t want Zayn to see it, but Liam’s grown close to Zayn, attached in tragedy, and it’s not too far off to say that Liam thinks of Zayn as more than a friend. It’s inappropriate, and Liam knows that—Liam’s thinking of his feelings while Zayn is about to talk about something that’s cutting him deep—too deep. But Liam can’t help it; Zayn is someone he just wants to take care of and hold forever.

“No,” Liam breathes, the word light on his tongue. “I don’t think Niall’s gone.”

It’s then that he realizes how strange Niall’s name feels in his mouth. It’s been a voodoo subject for all of them, since he went missing so long ago. The name ‘Niall’ has been unspoken for so many days, so many hours, so many minutes, Liam’s almost forgotten how to say it. He tries it one more time, rolls it around on his tongue. “I think Niall’s okay.”

Zayn looks up at him, through thick eyelashes. “Liam, I loved him,” he says finally. “I should have told him, but I didn’t, and now it’s too late and look what I’ve done.”

“You haven’t done anything.” Liam runs his hand along Zayn’s jawline, tracing it quietly.

“It’s my fault—” Zayn begins, but Liam cuts him off but reaching around him and pulling Zayn’s face towards his own and pressing their lips together. It’s a shock to them both, and Liam pulls away almost as fast as he pushed in. But the look on Zayn’s face isn’t the horror or the shock that Liam’s expected—no, it looks like Zayn’s smiling. Liam shakes his head, telling Zayn silently that it’s not his fault, and is nowhere near his fault.

“Thanks,” Zayn whispers, barely audible, and he presses his lips to Liam’s again. “I needed that.”

~

They begin planning the memorial service a little bit after that. Zayn and Liam are closer than usual, and Harry and Louis notice that. They aren’t _together_ in the way that Louis and Harry are—climbing all over each other, kissing all the time, cuddling whenever they can—but they are holding hands quite a bit, and to Harry that means even more than the other stuff does. But they’re a little bit happier than before, and that’s good.

They’re picking a place for the service, all crushed into each other on the sofa in Louis and Harry’s living room. Niall’s flat hasn’t been touched since the day he left, and Liam is trying to call Maura to get her to come get his things. There’s no body, so there’s to be no funeral, just candle lighting and singing and a lot of tears. It’s cold in the flat, but they’re bundled up like they used to be before all this happened. Skinny little Zayn, whose lost so much weight, is lost in Niall’s jumper, the one they found, the one that Liam had stashed in the back of his closet the day after they lost Niall.

It’s a gloomy day, and the sky is overcast, rain threatening. Nobody expects the doorknob to jiggle and for a knock to echo through the totally silent flat. Liam gets up to answer it, shaking his hair out as he goes, and when he opens the door, he almost passes out.

Niall’s standing there, blonde hair grown out and shaggy, almost brown. It’s sheared off in choppy angles that look like they’ve been done by a pair of scissors and a shaky hand without a mirror—which was probably the case. He’s soaking wet, his lips set into a pout, arms bony and body shivering. He’s filthy and looks exhausted and unhealthy but Jesus Christ, he’s _alive._

“Zayn,” Liam can barely choke out, before reaching out and grabbing Niall by the back of the neck and pulling him into the flat, hugging him so tightly that neither of them can breathe, soaking his clothes all the way through but not caring. The two of them are already crying, and by the time Zayn comes around the corner he stops short once seeing Niall.

A million thoughts go through his head, none of which he can process. None but _Niall is alive._ It’s almost like a mirage that Niall’s standing there before him, like that dream where Niall was so close but yet so far, untouchable, unreachable. Zayn can’t move, just like the dream, he’s frozen to the ground. But this time, Niall’s the one who comes up to him, grabs the sides of his face and kisses him full on.

“Niall, I’m so sorry,” Zayn babbles as soon as they break apart. “This was all my fault, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have fought with you, we shouldn’t have fought. None of this would have happened if I didn’t let you leave that night, Niall.”

Niall silences him with another kiss.

“I love you so much, Zayn,” he says, wrapping his arms around Zayn’s body and burying his face into Zayn’s neck. His next words come out muffled. “You have nothing to be sorry about. I love you, so much. I’m never going to do anything like that again. I love you.”

Louis and Harry are in the room as well now, and as soon as Niall and Zayn break away, Louis propels himself at Niall, who just barely catches him in his arms without falling backwards and breaking the wood floors with his ass. The embrace turns into a group hug between the five of them, and Niall and Zayn share another kiss.

“Christ, Niall,” Zayn says, almost unbelievably. “I fucking love you.”

Liam laughs to himself, watching, because even though he knows that he feels for Zayn, Zayn is _happy_ now. Happy. That’s all Liam really wants for him, after all. He doesn’t have to always be greedy or selfish. And Niall’s back. Niall is fucking alive, and that’s all that mattered.

“Where were you, Niall?” Harry asks softly, always the curious kitten.

Niall’s face turns stark white. “Later…” he begins, and Zayn slinks an arm around him, cuddling him into his side. “I just am glad I’m still alive. I don’t want to talk about it now, I’m not sure if I want to talk about it ever. But I’m alive now and I—I love all of you, and never… don’t ever…Zayn.” Niall’s speech runs off-track when his gaze trails down to Zayn’s wrists. “What did you do?”

Zayn is quiet for a moment. “It was my fault, I deserved to die, Niall. If you did then I did too.”

More tears come up in Niall’s eyes, more tears than before. He feels himself crack a little more. “It was never your fault, don’t think it was ever yours. It was nobody’s fault, just bad luck. Just be sure… you know that I love you.”

Zayn nods, hugging Niall close again, kissing his lips again. He’s so solid that it’s almost like fiction to Zayn. Zayn’s never felt someone so warm and solid and real than Niall is at that moment, even though he’s soaked to the bone and shivering.

Niall is alive. And really, that’s all that matters.

**Author's Note:**

> i have no idea if i'm doing a companion piece. maybe later, because i know that you all probably want answers.


End file.
